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“Ca-aaas…” Dean calls out in the sing-song voice he has permanently adopted since realizing how powerless his angel is against it.
Breathing out a humoring sort of sigh, Cas steps out of the bathroom and into the hall, the all too familiar Scooby-Doo theme song playing in the background as he leans in through the living room door. He stifles a laugh at the sight of Dean entrenched in the recliner, his belly large and round, floating in a sea of warm blankets and fluffy pillows.
Truly a sight to behold.
In all honesty, the whole pregnancy situation is entirely his fault, but who knew an angel could manifest their desire in such undreamed-of ways? Which explains why he drops whatever he’s doing and rushes to Dean’s side whenever he calls. They both know there’s more than a little guilt there, despite Dean’s insistence that he shares some of the blame, but it’s mostly pure adoration.
“Yes, Dean?”
“I’m hungry.”
Cas knows better than to acknowledge the whiny quality to Dean’s statement. He may be big and slow right now but he’s still a dangerous man. Doubly so now that he has a baby and his ego to protect and defend.
“We have leftovers. I could bring you some.”
“I want to get it myself, but I don’t want to get up.”
Again, he pretends not to notice the pout on Dean’s lips, instead focusing on the problem at hand. “I’m not sure I can do anything about that.”
“The chair is in here and the food is all the way in there for some stupid reason. I need someone to get the fridge and bring it to meeeee,” Dean says, stretching the word to its breaking point. “I'm going to speak to management about it.”
“File a complaint,” Cas says, finally breaking out a wide smile at the indignant look on Dean’s face.
“Oh, I plan to. Either the food needs to be in here or the chair needs to be in there. The current arrangement makes no sense.”
After seriously considering the logistics of bringing the fridge into the living room and finding several fundamental issues, namely the lack of a plug with the proper voltage, Cas decides against the idea. Instead, he steps around and grips the armrests, lifting Dean into the air, chair, nest and all.
“Jesus, Cas…”
Despite the added weight of a full-grown man who is eating for two, Cas carries the chair into the kitchen and deposits Dean in front of the fridge as if he were light as a feather. “What do you want,” he asks, pulling the door open and sliding Dean closer.
With a quick look over his shoulder to see if he’s serious, Dean begins to pull containers out of the fridge, passing each one off to Cas who sets about making a plate full of Thanksgiving dinner leftovers. Turkey and ham, cornbread dressing, green bean casserole, which is the only way Dean will eat green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, mac and cheese and a big fat homemade roll slathered in butter.
The microwave dings a minute later, and Cas drags a tv tray out, sliding the plate in front of Dean who digs in with an overabundance of enthusiasm. Even for him.
“Uh…Cas,” Dean says, glancing up at his face, mouth turned down and his voice a soft whine, “I’m missing my show.”
With a fond shake of his head, Cas lifts the chair once more, conveying the love of his very long life back to the living room, shifting the chair back into the tracks imprinted into the carpet, followed by the tray, laden with food. “Anything else I can get you?”
“Maybe one more thing…”
Before the words are out of Dean’s mouth, Cas disappears to the kitchen like a flash, reappearing with a plate and a fork, a thick slice of pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream balanced in the center.
“Happy, love?”
“Damn right, I am.” Dean slips his hands into Cas’ collar and yanks him close. “You’re the best, Cas.”
Cas rests one hand over Dean’s belly, feeling the kicking feet of their child, while Dean pries the plate from his delicate grip even as he presses a tender kiss to his lips. He could argue that Dean is the best, and he has the evidence to back it up right under the palm of his hand, but he’ll just deny it. So, he thinks about how grateful he is instead.